Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)

“Your brother’s resourceful,” Blake replied, still studying her heatedly. “Remind me to thank him.”

“Thank me instead.”

“My pleasure.” Blake pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside, lowering himself onto the rug beside her. “You know, this day is turning out a lot better than expected.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” she murmured, unbuttoning her blouse. “Of course, I still expect to be fed.”

He took over the unbuttoning job. “It’s early.”

“That’s true.” Devon lay back, feathering her hair out around her. “On the other hand, I skipped lunch. I’m pretty hungry. And if we push dinner off for a while and I exert tons of energy, I’ll probably be ravenous. I might eat a whole pie myself.”

Blake was making quick work of the rest of their clothes. “Tell you what. I’ll be a sport. I’ll spring for two pizzas.”

Devon’s smile was pure seduction. “That’s all the incentive I need.”

AN HOUR LATER, they were wrapped in blankets, munching on pizza and sipping wine by the fire.

“Now this is what I call a great end to a day,” Devon announced between bites.

“Better than great.” Blake caught her hand, brought her palm to his lips. “You’re exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Her lips curved. “The funny thing is, I didn’t plan this part. It just sort of happened.”

“That’s the best way.” Blake kissed her bare shoulder. “You said you wanted to talk. I assume it’s about the deleted file.”

“Specifics of it, yes.” Sobering, Devon stared into her glass. “Lawrence Vista,” she clarified, not mincing words. “Turns out I met him. Twice, as a matter of fact.”

Blake’s brows rose. “When? And where?”

“This week. At your farm.” She elaborated on her two encounters with Vista. “He seemed uneasy. Especially after I told him I was a veterinarian. I assumed it was a question of job security, that he felt threatened by the thought of your grandfather hiring the competition. But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he was afraid I’d pick up on something. I have a trained eye. If he’s involved in something illegal to benefit James, and that something is medical, I might very well notice it.”

“Did you?”

Devon shook her head. “I wasn’t looking. This time I will be.”

“This time?”

“Yes. I’m taking Monday off. I’ll be driving up to my mom’s house. After that, I’ll go by your family’s place and look for Vista. Hopefully, he and his truck will be there, and we’ll have a talk. Maybe there’s a tie-in between him and that Uruguayan horse farm. If not, I’ll have something else to check out. I’ll poke around the stables if that’s what it takes.”

Blake shook his head, his eyes narrowing in thought. “There’s a snag to that plan. My grandparents are up at the farm. They’ll be there through midweek. Which means James will probably stay up there while he’s home. It also means that there’ll be business meetings going on, and Pierson staff members will be zipping in and out all day. It’ll be too hard for you to get to Vista—at least without a deluge of questions.” A pause. “I have an idea. But first things first. Tomorrow night, I want you to tell James about us.”

Devon stopped eating. “Does that request relate to your idea, or is it just another burst of possessiveness?”

“Both. Plus, it’s the only way you’ll retain credibility. What’s going on between us is out of the bag since Louise walked in and saw us together. You’ll have one shot at getting information out of James before he hears that you and I are involved. And that shot’s tomorrow night. He won’t have spoken to anyone yet. He’ll go straight to your place from the airport. Once your date’s over, someone will clue him in. Nothing this juicy stays a secret for long.”

“That makes sense. How does it factor into your idea?”

“It clears the way for it. I’ll escort you up to the farm on Monday. My family will have already heard about us from James, so it’ll seem perfectly natural. We’re in a new relationship. We’re both in the middle of family crises. We need to chill out. What better place to do it than the farm?”

“I see your point.” Devon nodded. “And you’re also right about James. It’s better he hears about us from me. But not until after I finish delivering the script Monty’s preparing. I need to catch James off guard and get him to admit something.” Her brows knit. “It’s still hard for me to picture him as a killer.”

“He probably doesn’t view himself as one. Remember, even if he’s guilty, he didn’t commit the crimes firsthand. He has an ironclad alibi for both the morning of Frederick’s murder and the night of Philip’s. He was in Wellington. So he’d have to have hired someone to do the dirty work. That way, his hands—and his conscience—could stay clean. Typical James—self-indulgent, self-serving, and cowardly.”

Devon looked up from her wine. “You’re still hoping he’s innocent.”

“I’m hoping a lot of things, and not counting on any of them,” Blake answered roughly. “Besides, I’ve got my own demons to fight.”

“Your grandfather,” Devon surmised quietly. “It must be hard not sharing this with him.”